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The four stood
on the Fourteenth Street Station platform of the IRT. The agitation
was palpable. The father was eyeing the two children with a worried look bordering
on the frantic. The boy, Juanito, the least perturbed of the group, was avoiding
his father's look with studied nonchalance, but he betrayed a lack of confidence when he stole a glance at his younger sister. They were a study in contrasts. He was
a gangling thirteen year-old who had just grown three inches without putting on a single pound, earning from his classmates
the nickname "Flaco", which made it difficult to live up to the machismo budding in the spindly frame. Margarita, three years his junior, was still losing her baby fat and, at the moment, seemed on the verge
of tears, which, at the look of the older woman, she managed to fight back, regaining her self control.
"I don't know why we had to waste two tokens just to see them get on the train," the woman muttered, still scowling
at the girl.
"Because of what happened the last time!" the father shot back.
"What happened? They missed the stop and got off at Third Avenue
by your sister Gloria's apartment. Big deal!"
"I'll say it was a big deal. Poor Margarita had nightmares for a week." Turning to the boy he asked, "Juanito, are you sure you know the stop?"
"Yes, Papa, 149th Street and the Grand Concourse. The stop after 125th Street"
"Right!" the man replied, brightening somewhat at the boy's apparent familiarity with the route. "And go right home and call Tia Gloria as soon as you get in, okay?"
"Sure, Papa, don't worry about us," Juanito answered. The idea of being
in charge seemed to give him a sudden spurt of courage. Unbeknownst to his parents,
he had made the trip downtown several times with his friends. One of the trips
had included fare jumping on the return, when they ran out of money. The tension
of the group mounted as the northbound Number 5 train pulled into the station. "I
think we better go home with them," the father said suddenly.
"Not on your life, Ricky! I haven't had a night out since you went on
reduced work week. I'm sick of staying home."
The woman's voice rose in pitch with every word she uttered, ending close to a scream at the last word.
"It's all right, Papa. I know the way," the boy quickly put in, seeing
the look in her eyes.
"See! What are you worried about?
Take your sister's hand," she said, leaning over and giving the girl a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. The father, cowed somewhat by the outburst, ushered the two children onto the train. The doors closed behind them, and the two figures on the platform quickly retreated into the distance.
It was five in the afternoon on a Saturday in mid-January. The crowd was
light and they quickly found seats. Juanito's thoughts turned immediately to
the evening ahead. He had intended to be out prowling with his friends, but for
this sudden turn of events. Maybe he'd go anyway, once they got into the apartment
and they'd something to eat. The little body squeezed next to his shook, and
a sob issued from the now-contorted face. "My mommy would never have done that,"
she cried.
He put his arm around her and, in a half-pleading voice, tried to comfort her.
"Don't worry; we'll be home in no time."
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